


The Revolution of Westeros: How an Engineer Views Plebeians

by YaboiNatedawg



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AKA Jonxmargaery, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Engineering, F/M, Jon Snow Knows Something, New Writer, Revolution, Self-Insert, Winter Roses (ASoIaF), go easy on me please :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23905168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YaboiNatedawg/pseuds/YaboiNatedawg
Summary: This wasn't his intention when he started this new life. He was going to let everything pass him by and live in peace. Curse his bleeding heart. He cared about people, though he never knew why. He was one of the smartest men in the world, and he still cared about people. Westeros is full of imbeciles, it's time an engineer let his light shine. Or; How an Engineer saved the world.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Margaery Tyrell
Comments: 67
Kudos: 320





	1. Chapter 1

Imbeciles

It was stupid, really. When he awoke in this world, he had every intention of taking a back seat and letting things playout so that he was a non-factor. He had it decent enough for a child of his standing, even in the modern world that he was familiar with bastards were not treated that great. Then again, the world he was in was full of imbeciles, the only non-imbecilic person there was himself and those he came to care about. So, no he was done taking everyone else’s shit. He’d just let this new life be a breather where he can relax and say “responsibility? Never heard of it.”  
Sadly, that notion was destroyed when Jon, who is Jon and yet so much more than just Jon, reached his eighth nameday.  
It all started the day the imbeciles, what Jon lovingly calls every single person living in Westeros, came to his father for advice. Normally, Jon would not sit in on the hearings that the Warden of the North would have with the extremely uneducated, though by means their own fault, smallfolk. However, Robb had been taken by Lady Catelyn to the Riverlands to visit with her family. For this reason, Eddard Stark decided to allow his only other son to sit in on the hearings of the smallfolk, a tradition that the Warden of the North had for a few years now. Every month, he would take two days of the third week to hear the concerns of the smallfolk to ensure that Winterfell and Wintertown were properly functioning. In Jon’ s mind it didn’t even matter because these weren’t really “important” people. So, in the end he was still not contributing much in these hearings.  
It was sad, really, education was a gift. How can people go through their lives without knowing the joy of reading and writing? In this, Jon was always upset. There were no churches to teach the people reading and writing, nothing to teach the plebeians of the world how to make their own lives better. The septs and septas are useless, only blathering about this religion and never actually teaching. Honestly, how are people supposed to evolve in their thought process and religion if they aren’t even allowed the basic human right of self-determinism? If a man is not educated, then how should he grow? It angered Jon simply because he was an educated man before he ever came to this world. He had a master’s degree in Industrial and Computer Engineering and this lack of education that the “government” of this world let continue was frankly appalling and offensive.  
Robb, Jon’s half-brother, could sit in on the more “important” meetings. In a way, Jon was jealous. It was hard, having made himself one of the smartest men in a world just to be shoved into a lower station in another. Not unbearable, but still difficult. Even so, it hurt not being able to contribute to conversations that “adults” had, a word used liberally due to the majority of adults in this world having the mental maturity of a two-year-old. The “Bastard of Winterfell” couldn’t possibly be intelligent enough to help in any way, was the common thought that many people had. If only the adage “don’t judge a book by its cover,” could be applied in this world.  
Jon, for all his admittedly slight jealousy of Robb, couldn’t find it within himself to make a fuss about it. Robb was his brother, and even though he lived a life before this one, he still loved the tyke. He was a hellion, but Jon would do anything for that hellion. There wasn’t a bad bone in Robb’s body, and so Jon would admit that he didn’t really mind that Robb was preferred over Jon in literally everything. Jon was a big boy; he could handle it.  
Over time, Jon came to love Robb. Who wouldn’t? From his messy brown hair to his curly blue eyes, the kid was lovely. He was kind, and Jon was fiercely proud of him. If he had to, he’d burn the world to the ground for him. Even though Jon knew a life before this, he’d never felt the kind of brotherly affection he felt for Robb, the kid who stole his blackened heart.  
For Jon, his siblings were his chance to create intelligent individuals. When Robb didn’t know something, Jon was there to fill in the blanks. Jon was always there to impart wisdom to Robb. He’d be damned if he didn’t turn his siblings into the smartest people Westeros has ever seen. He’d so it for all his siblings if he’d had access to them.  
That’s not to say that he didn’t love his other siblings. He loved Arya and Sansa fiercely, but he hadn’t built the connection with Sansa yet that he had with Robb. How could he? He was Arya’s best friend and always there to help her. She had him wrapped around her finger, but Sansa was kept away from him by Lady Catelyn. He loved Sansa, but he wasn’t allowed to play with her. Even so, he tried to make her laugh and have fun. It wouldn’t do for there to be another stick in the mud like “prim and proper” Lady Catelyn. Even now, he missed his brother and the adventures they would have.  
“Next!” the voice of Eddard Stark rang out as the next plaintiff came into the main hall to plead his case. The man was small, and scraggly. A farmer, by the looks of him. Jon knew the type; he’d grown up on a farm himself in his old life. He even participated in multiple environmental competitions growing up. God, he missed the cattle and the good ole’ days.  
“m’lord,” the man began as his weaselly voice began to speak of his, admittedly, important issue. “The fields of my farm ‘ave been growing more and more critters that attack the crops. All I ‘ave been my ‘ole life is a farmer, but I don’ know ‘ow to deal with these critters.”  
To Jon, it was simple. To the plebeians in the room, it wasn’t so simple.  
“A question for the maester, I’m sure,” spoke Eddard Stark as he motioned for maester Luwin to speak on the issue.  
“My Lord, I have never been well read in the dealings of farms. Even so, I could send word to the Citadel and ask for their view on the situations,” Luwin said as he began to motion for a servant to bring a piece of parchment.  
Jon couldn’t help the frown that appeared on his face; the solution was simple. Yet, again, the imbeciles of Westeros were trying to make it more complicated than it was. Goodness, he missed Robb. He was never this dull.  
As he watched in amusement as Luwin went about trying to write a letter to the Citadel, he couldn’t help but deepen his frown. By the time the raven, and why in the seven levels of Hell they ever decided on ravens for message couriers he’d never know, returned the crops would be eaten through. It wasn’t fair to this man to have to wait that long. Hmm… He’d have to invent a form of long-range communication. That’s a thought for another time.  
“I see your frown Jon,” Eddard began, “do you have thoughts on this matter?”  
Jon raised an eyebrow in silent contemplation. If he spoke then his father would know his intelligence, but if he didn’t then this man’s crop would be destroyed. Jon wanted this life to be carefree, but it never was. He always found himself hurting on behalf of the smallfolk, he wanted to help them. With his knowledge he could do that. Maybe… maybe it was time for Westeros to have its own changes brought to it. Mayhap it was time for a revolution. Yes, that would be what Jon could do in this new world. Revolutionize it. Change it, mold it, make this world better. Who knows, maybe he could reach industrialization by the time he died? A more worthy goal would be the age of technology, but he wasn’t sure If the materials even existed for that.  
With his new goal in mind, he crafted his response to his father.  
“Well, the solution seems simple, really,” Jon began, not bothered by the raised eyebrow of Eddard, nor the incredulous look on maester Luwin’s face. “The fields are being taken by pestilence, so something new must be added to reduce the control of pests.”  
“And how would this work? Why would adding something new cause the fields to be safer for harvest?” asked Luwin in a pensive pose.  
“Well,” Jon began after he had paused to gather his thoughts. “Think of it in this way. If I drink ale the first time, it hurts going down. It is painful, yet after years of drinking it I become accustomed to the taste and the sensation. In other words, it fails to bother me. Do you understand?”  
“Yes, but how does that apply…” Luwin trailed off as he began to understand the thoughts of Jon. He looked impressed, that a child could know such advanced practices. Really, they weren’t advanced. It was just that everyone on this planet wasn’t well educated.  
“I see you begin to understand,” Jon said. He tried to pull off a serious expression, but on his face it just made him look more of a child than he already was. “It is this way too with the critters of the forests and fields. As time continues, they adapt and eat what they must to survive. It becomes their nature to feast upon the familiar, but the familiar must be kept as the familiar. Tell me,” he then turned to the farmer, “what crops do you plant? Do you rotate any crops so that you can force the creatures to suffer a change in the environment?”  
“Rotate m’lord?” The farmer said in a confused voice. “I… I don’t rotate any crop m’lord.”  
At this Jon blanched. Not rotating crops? What kind of heathens surrounded him?  
“Jon, you seem appalled. Rotation of crops? It sounds peculiar, why should we do it here, when I haven’t even heard of this happening in the Reach?” Eddard said as he looked at his son.  
Jon looked at Eddard and Luwin with a deadpan expression. How could two men show such dullardness?  
“Father, what do crops take from the soil?” Jon asked in a polite voice.  
“Water, and life wherewith to grow,” Eddard responded in kind.  
“And what do they give back?” Jon continued in the same voice as if he were speaking to a child.  
“I… Something is given back?” Eddard responded sounding confused.  
“Life, m’lord, it’s well known by farmers that they must give and return. The Old Gods ‘ave shown us this much.” The farmer cut in still looking confused as to why a child would be giving counsel to the Lord Stark.  
“Exactly,” Jon began in a superior voice, “they give, and they take away. However, if I ate mutton, would I taste the same flavor as that of steamed carrots?” Jon asked rhetorically. “No, I wouldn’t. The plants are fundamentally different. Therefore, the life given back to the soil is fundamentally different. If you do not rotate crops between plots of land, then the fields must lay fallow, or the crops fail to grow. If you do not rotate crops then the pestilence will grow, and if you do not rotate crops then the soil is carried away by the water when it flows down the hills. That, father, is why crop rotation is important. If it is carried out, then fields never need to lay fallow, and yields will be more bountiful than ever before,” Jon finished looking pointedly at Luwin and Eddard.  
‘He speaks well my Lord,” Luwin began as he turned from Jon to Eddard. “It might be best to try this. It is a new line of thought, but it has merit. Mayhaps we can get a few to try this new technique and compare to the current way of farming?”  
“Aye, it has merit,” Eddard said as he stroked his beard in contemplation.  
Jon tried to keep from rolling his eyes. Of course the idea had merit, it was his idea!  
“Write the Citadel, it’ll take time for them to respond. While we wait for their response,” which Jon knew would take months, seriously maesters were lazy except for Luwin. “We will try the idea that Jon has presented us.” Eddard said looking at both Jon and Luwin.  
Jon was surprised, it wasn’t like his father had to listen to him. He could have dismissed his ideas as the foolish ramblings of a child. Yet he hadn’t. Maybe there was hope for him after all.  
“I would like it If Jon were given a few plots around Winterfell to test this,” Eddard began. “Send out the word, maester.”  
“Of course, my Lord,” Luwin said as he began to arise. He stopped for a second and looked back at Jon, “It’s a good idea Jon, do you have anything else to add?”  
Jon blanched as a thought went through his mind. He forgot the extra fertilizer!  
“Well,” he began, “it would behoove us to start to compile much more of the manure of the cattle. I know that the manure of the cattle is used already in the planting process, I’ve spent enough time in the glass gardens to understand the need for it. Notwithstanding, the manure will be lacking if we don’t have enough. If needs must, then we can resort to the waste of the horses.”  
Luwin seemed pensive for a moment. He looked as if he would say something, but then Lord Stark spoke first.  
“This interests me Luwin, I wouldst like to see if his assumptions bear fruit,” he said as he began to rise. “I’ll allow him this harvest to prove that his ideas have merit, and if so, then we may continue to have need of your council Jon.” He dismissed the farmer and walked to where Jon was sitting. “I know it can be difficult feeling like a child around adults when we have these meetings with the smallfolk, but you carry yourself with the poise of someone well beyond your years,” at this Jon nearly snorted. If only Lord Stark knew. Maybe, in time he could persuade him. He would need people to trust him if he were to take this backwater country into a new age.  
“Jon, no matter what happens this growing season, I am most proud of you being willing to give voice to your thoughts. It takes a man grown to do that,” he said proudly as he ruffled Jon’s hair. Jon pouted; it was so easy for his hair to become disheveled.  
“Thank you, father,” Jon began as he dodged another hair-ruffling to the amusement of his father, “I won’t err in this. Trust in me, and the yield will be three time as plentiful as they normally would be,” Jon said with a haughty sniff.  
Eddard smiled. “I shall wait and see then,” he said.  
It turned out that Jon was wrong. The next growing season, the crops weren’t three times as plentiful. No, his plots of land yielded six times the normal amount when compared to all the other lands. Due to this, the next season Lord Stark and Luwin sent out letters to all the lords of the North informing them of the new way they were to tend to their fields. The North, while not being anywhere near as rich as the Reach even with the new techniques, now had a surplus of food that they could trade away for other supplies. Needless to say, Eddard and Luwin began taking Jon’s counsel more seriously and frequently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note
> 
> Disclaimer: These will come at the end because I don’t like them being in the main view of the story. It’s ugly to me. Anywhoser, I don’t own ASOIAF or GOT. Though, if I did season 8 wouldn’t have been so awful.  
> Wasssssssssuuuuuuuppppppp my dudes and dudettes!!  
> This is a new fanfiction that I came up with. I had the idea after writing a chapter for a different fic, and I thought, ‘hey, what would a revolutionizing Westeros be like?’ That led me to this idea. An Engineer in Westeros who is overly educated to the point that everyone else seems stupid. It’s not that they are, it’s just that the Engineer is used to being among equals. At this point in time, no one is his equal in all of Westeros and the known world. How could they be? He knows more about technology and all things than any human at this point. He was well educated and, because it isn’t farfetched and many engineers including myself have one, he has an amazing memory. So, this story is all about him changing Westeros to where life isn’t so crappy. He DOESN’T have knowledge of the future of Westeros. In this fic GOT and ASOIAF didn’t exist on Earth. Eventually, we’ll get into siege equipment and warfare, but right now Jon is going to try and make the North the most thriving kingdom in Westeros. He’s got a lot to do, and imbeciles in his way.  
> Also, if anyone wants to Beta, let me know. I’d be happy to partner with someone on this fic.  
> Eventually, it will be Jon x Margaery, but that is definitely far in the future. So, this is my first GOT/ASOIAF fic. I hope you like it! Let me know what y’all think. I am going to try and update frequently, but we’ll see. I have a lot of hope for this fic, but your encouragement would definitely help me work harder.  
> Leave a comment! Leave burns too, I don’t really care. Like Jon, I wallow in the hatred of Plebeians.


	2. Bows and Power

Eddard always knew that Jon was an odd child. Ever since he took the boy from his mother’s arms, he knew the child was different from any he had ever met. He was calm. That was the first thing that the Stark who was never meant to be Lord of Winterfell noticed when he first laid eyes on Jon. The babe was altogether too calm. He looked around with a sort of awareness that caused Eddard to think a man grown was taking in the world around him.  
Eddard was further proven correct on his view of Jon when maester Luwin started to teach Jon and Robb their letters and numbers. Robb found them difficult, as he should. He was only five when the teachings began. Jon, on the other hand, took to them like a natural. No, more than that. Jon knew them before he was even taught them. It was frightening. Had someone been teaching him secretly?  
Lord Stark knew that wasn’t the case. If someone had been teaching the child, then he would have known. It was rare for the smallfolk of Westeros to be literate, so it was most definitely not them. His household lacked people who could read or make sense of numbers, and it definitely was not his lady wife. Lady Catelyn wanted nothing to do with the child. It wasn’t her fault, how could he expect her to take the child in and shower him with love when he was, in the eyes of the world, the proof of his broken vows?  
Lord Stark sighed. At times it was hard to keep up this charade. He’d seen the way Cat had treated Jon, how she scorned him, the hateful things she’d say. To her, he didn’t belong. And yet, she never went beyond words.  
Ned would be worried for Jon’s temperament if it weren’t for how the boy reacted. He knew the child did not allow the words of his lady wife to affect him. Whenever she ranted and raved at him Jon would simply bear it. Some would have thought him to have a will of iron, yet Lord Stark saw through the blank face to the expression that lay beneath.  
Ned never understood why, but Jon seemed to find amusement in the harsh words that Cat bequeathed him with. It was peculiar. Eddard found himself paying close attention to Jon when the child, most likely, thought no one was looking. He gazed at Lady Catelyn with a sort of pity. As if she were being fooled and only Jon knew it.  
Eddard was scared of his nephew-son at times. There was an intelligence in his eyes that caused Lord Stark to think there was more to him than met the eye. Jon would play often with Robb; they were practically inseparable. In fact, when Catelyn tried to put a wedge between the two, Robb all but threw a tantrum to keep Jon beside him. The entire time, Jon watched with a quiet amusement in his eyes as if the world were his plaything, and Robb was his playmate.  
Even so, Ned knew that Jon didn’t really care to play. Mayhaps that was incorrect. Jon enjoyed playing, but he only enjoyed it with Robb or his siblings. Eddard was always busy, but he did his best to be there with his children so as to entertain them every so often. From his few interactions with Jon when the child would play, he quickly grew to realize a startling fact about his dark, curly haired son. Jon never suggested what they should play. He always, always, deferred to his siblings.  
It was so small an interaction that Lord Stark didn’t understand why his mind pointed it out. Jon’s behavior was strange around his siblings. He indulged them; Ned realized. Jon never played with them for his own enjoyment. Instead, it seemed that Jon took enjoyment in his siblings finding enjoyment.  
For that, Ned felt a strange mixture of pride, love, and sadness. Pride, because his son put others that he loved above himself. He was selfless, and any fear that Catelyn had about him usurping his siblings was locked away under a thousand locks. Jon could never do that. He loved them too fiercely. Love, because Jon was so much like Lyanna who loved her family deeply. Jon proved that he was his mother’s child when he indulged Robb, Arya, Sansa, and Bran. Yet he felt sadness, because so many had mistreated him simply because he had to live under the falsity of being a bastard.  
This lie, this mummer’s farce that he lived with for years would forever haunt him. No one so good should have to endure what Jon had faced. Yet, every day the child grew older and showed as much of Rhaegar as he did Lyanna. As much as he hated this lie, he’d carry it with him to his grave if it meant keeping Jon safe.  
Ned knew that Jon was intelligent. He always seemed to know how to do even the most complex tasks before he was even told what the task would accomplish. Again, in times like this, Ned knew that Jon was special. Blessed by the Gods, Luwin had told him when he was perplexed by the vast intelligence that Jon held.  
Lord Stark was a staunch follower of the Old Gods, yet even he didn’t know if they were able to impart such wisdom on a child of only eight namedays. Even so, this development concerning Jon had changed his plans dramatically for the boy. Such intelligence would be wasted at the Wall. Perhaps the child should receive his own holdfast and be a bannerman for Robb? He had always wanted to repair Moat Cailin.  
Over time Eddard came to accept the strange intelligence Jon had. When he heard the complaints of the smallfolk, he expected Jon to remain silent, keeping his own counsel within his mind. He noticed the frown on his face and knew that Jon had something to say. He knew that Jon had frequented the glass gardens often, so maybe the child could offer some insight? It would be amusing, at least, to see what his son had to say.  
At first, Ned wanted to dismiss what Jon said. He was a child, how could a boy of only eight namedays think to know more than the Lord and maester of Winterfell? Yet… he knew that Jon was a smart lad. The contemplative expression that Luwin wore when Jon spoke was enough for him to let the boy speak his thoughts.  
If it wasn’t for Luwin agreeing, even slightly, with Jon, then he might not have given any thought to Jon’s idea. Yet he did. And Ned was glad that he listened to Jon on this. Going forward, he made an effort to see what the boy thought. Jon made for an interesting conversationalist when speaking about serious issues. He had a sort of starved look when he had conversations of substance with Lord Stark. It made Ned wonder if anyone had ever asked the boy for his opinion on any important matter.  
The council that Jon gave was a boon to house Stark and the North. For the first time in its history, the North was able to sell part of the surplus of food gleaned from the growing season. While not much, the added income meant more security for the future.  
Even so, Ned wasn’t foolish. The North could never rival the Reach in terms of food growth, but the North could now be less reliant on them. This, more than anything, brought a sense of comfort to the Lord of Winterfell.  
The North was a peculiar member of the seven kingdoms. They were easily the most prideful, yet the ones who most definitely couldn’t stand on their own when winter came. It was necessity, not a want for open relations, that forced the North to join more closely with the other kingdoms. If the North could become more equipped for whenever winter came, then Ned would always welcome such actions.  
Recently, Eddard had begun to take Robb along with him to more and more meetings. Mayhaps it was time to start teaching Robb and Jon, together, how to manage a castle? Lady Catelyn would certainly be upset, but Ned couldn’t help but want to see if Jon had any new insights that might lead to improvements for the North. After all, even though Jon was his son and he loved him dearly, Eddard Stark was first and foremost Lord Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North. If he was Warden of all the North, then it was his duty to make sure that the North was as well-equipped as it could be. If Jon had more insights, then, Ned promised himself, the North would listen.

It was peculiar. After Jon had given his lord father and Luwin his first nugget of knowledge, they almost hounded him for more. Well, that isn’t really the correct description. They didn’t ask directly for his thoughts, but they made an obvious effort to listen when he spoke. It was… refreshing.  
Most recently, Lord Stark had begun to take Robb and Jon into his solar for lessons twice every sennight. He talked of managing keeps and castles, how to ensure the smallfolk are cared for, and many other topics. Of course, Jon knew much about logistics and supply chains, so these discussions felt archaic when compared to the techniques that he had been accustomed with. Jon felt his interest rise though, when the talk turned to the levvies and how many troops the houses of the North could raise.  
“House Manderly is one of the more populated houses in the North. They could, if required, field over 4,000-foot soldiers, more than 1,000 horse, nearly 1,300 pikeman, and more than 100 knights. ” Eddard said as he lectured both Robb and Jon on the levvies that the North could call upon.  
“Do they not also have war galleys, Father?” asked Robb as he scrunched his face up in a thoughtful expression. It was adorable to Jon; Robb was a smart boy (he should be if Jon had been the one to train him) but he always had the queerest facial expressions.  
Eddard smiled at his first-born son, “aye, a total of 23 war galleys.”  
Jon sat in contemplation. He had been training with the sword and bow since he had attained six namedays, but he knew that in the North archery was viewed as a lesser pursuit in comparison to the art of the sword. Even so, he couldn’t help but notice how his father said foot soldiers, not men-at-arms or archers. Why would they be lumped together? They were night and day, and in Jon’s humble opinion, well trained archers could destroy a larger force if the conditions were correct. A good case study was Agincourt where the British routed the French.  
“Father,” Jon began, “you spoke of foot soldiers, but a distinction between their type was never made. Are they men-at-arms, archers, or a mixture of the two?”  
Eddard turned his attention to Jon and said, “the larger part of the force would be men-at-arms. The Northern houses often see archery as a craven’s path. The way of the blade is much more common, which is apparent when the bannerman are called.”  
Jon couldn’t help the snort that he let loose.  
“Are you amused Jon?” Lord Stark asked with a raised eyebrow.  
Jon looked at his father and brother with an incredulous look and said, “it’s just that archers can be deadly on the field. Think of the longbowman that are commonly found in the North. A typical draw is close to an estimated 120 pounds. If men could be trained up to the draw that I am training towards, 160 pounds, then chain mail would prove useless. Only plate could possibly stop an arrow that is shot with such force.”  
Eddard had a pensive look on his face. If this proved true, then perhaps the lords of the North would need to train their men in a different way? This investigation would be an interesting one. Jon obviously would not be able to fire such a bow currently, but perhaps a strong worker in Winterfell could?  
“It seems sound father, “ Robb began to say, looking from Jon to Eddard, “to at the least investigate if what Jon said is true.”  
Lord Stark nodded, “you make a fine point Jon, but few men could ever pull a bow so taxing.”  
Jon knew this, but with enough training, anyone could do it.   
“Train them,” Jon began, “if it is made compulsory that every archer must be strong and able to pull back such a bow, then the Northern forces would wax much stronger. Mayhaps, the archers could be made to meet once a sennight to ensure that able archers are ready for when war inevitably comes. Because war is always coming, and it harms the least prepared the most. When it finds the North, let it meet a sky blotted out by the thousands of arrows seeking the blood of those who dare to harm us.”  
Eddard nodded, but he made a note to check if such a bow could indeed make chainmail nigh arbitrary. If this proved feasible, then the North could better deal with the Iron Islanders who continued to attack and raid the coasts of the kingdoms, most notably the North. Balon Greyjoy swore that the attacks were carried out by deserters, but Ned was not sure of the truth of Balon’s words.  
“We shall test it. If it is true, then an edict will be written,” Lord Stark acquiesced.  
Jon’s idea, again, was proven. The longbow with a draw of 160 pounds, or what was assumed to be 160 pounds due to the lack of proper scales wherewith to check the draw weight, was able to pierce the mail and gambeson. Such a weapon would prove deadly in a skilled archer’s hands. With the new longbow tested, the edict was promptly sent out to each of the houses in the North.

It was a late night when Eddard approached the crypts of Winterfell. When he found sleep to allude him, he would often go down to the crypts and visit Lyanna, Brandon, and his father. He was surprised to find the path alight as he grabbed a torch and continued on his path. He was more than a little surprised to see Jon standing in front of a statue with a torch in his hand. As he stopped and looked to where Jon was looking, he felt his pulse quicken.  
“She was more beautiful in person,” Jon began, “they failed to capture her beauty,” he finished in a pained tone.  
Ned was more than confused, how could Jon know what Lyanna looked like?  
“And how, Jon, could you know the looks of my dead sister?” Eddard asked as he shuffled up next to him.  
Jon fixed him with a hollow, mirthless stare. “I know them because I see them every time I look at my reflection.”  
“I…” Lord Stark began to say, but he couldn’t say anything. The only thought going through his mind was ‘how.’  
“Uncle,” Jon began, and Eddard knew in that moment a dread like none other. If a child of nearly nine namedays was able to piece it together, who else could? There was no point in even denying it now, his hesitation to speak gave Jon the answer if he didn’t already know. “I know. I’ve always known,” Jon said as he confided in Ned, “ever since I awoke in this world I’ve remembered. My first memory was the day that you held me, and my mother died. The mother I never knew in this world. I knew because I remember.”  
“You… you must hate me, “ Lord Stark said as he deflated. How could Jon ever forgive something as dark as this? He’d passed him off as a bastard. Yes, it was for his protection, but it surely still hurt the child in different ways.  
Jon laughed, “hate you? Why would I ever hate you?”  
“Because of the life my inaction and failure has caused you to live. I meant to take the secret to my grave. At first, I was scared for you, then I loved you so I kept the secret longer. I thought ‘maybe it doesn’t matter, maybe he really can be mine own.’ I loved you dearly, and now I cannot accept the pain of not being your father,” Jon’s uncle said as he let the guilt sink into his very being, allowing tears to come to his eyes.  
Jon turned to his uncle, and in an expressive action of love hugged him tightly. It was rare for Jon to be so close to his uncle, rarer to have a hug returned in this life.  
“Uncle, father, does it matter? You did what you did to protect me. My siblings were slaughtered, and you would not let me be slaughtered with them. I’ve never held animosity towards you because I’ve known you were my uncle from the beginning. Yet, you are also my father. You were the one who raised me and kept me safe. You are the one who is here, you are my father as much as you are my uncle,” Jon said as his eyes glazed over with unshed tears.  
Ned nearly sighed in relief. His boy was still his boy. Yet…  
“You say that you’ve known from the start,” Eddard began as he pulled away from his nephew-son. “How is that possible? I have never met a person that can claim such a thing.” Was Jon truly blessed by the Gods?  
“Father,” and it nearly made Ned weep that Jon still called him that. “I have a confession. I am more than who you see before you. Aye, I am Jon, but I am also so much more than just the bastard boy, Jon Snow…” and so Jon told his tale to Lord Sark.

“You mean to say that you remember being born because you had the mind of a man grown when you were still a child?” Ned asked incredulously as he looked at Jon. “And that the knowledge you have regarding everything is due to this old world being much more advanced?”  
Jon shivered when he remembered the experience. It was the weirdest moment of his life. One moment he was on his death bed, the next he knew only darkness until he saw a great brightness and a younger Eddard hovering over Lyanna. It was… it was terrifying.   
“Aye and be thankful you cannot remember your own birth. It is… creepy,” Jon said as he gave off another shiver.  
“Aye, I suppose it would be,” Ned said as he chuckled slightly. “It’s a fantastic tale you weave, Jon. More than fantastic, it seems magical in its entirety.”  
That caused Jon to pause. Magic? Sure it couldn’t be proven false, but Jon never believed in the hocus pocus magical ninjutsu that was claimed to be authentic even when he was on Earth. It seemed much more likely that a cosmic event had caused some sort of anomaly to carry throughout the multiverse and force baby Jon to produce the exact chemical pattern of old Jon. But he couldn’t exactly tell his father that.  
“Mayhaps, mayhaps,” Jon said as he stroked the non-existent beard on his chin. “Whether that is the truth or not, do you believe me?”  
Ned took a moment to respond. It was a fantastic tale. It gave credence to why Jon knew much more than he let on, but was it true? “I… I don’t know Jon. Your tale is fantasy, yet it explains much.”  
“Well,” Jon began, “let me prove it to you.”  
“Oh,” Lord Stark began as he raised an eyebrow in unbelief. “How would you do that?”  
“Father,” Jon said as he looked up at Ned so as to look him in the eye. “I was content in this world to just be stagnant. If I could have, I would have done nothing but play with Robb as much as I could. Yet, when there was a chance to help the smallfolk, I couldn’t find it within me to resist. I want to take the North forward in technology, in warfare, in wealth. If you’d let me use my knowledge, I’d do my best to make this the most prosperous kingdom and the safest for our families.”  
“And how would you begin this quest Jon?” Eddard asked as he looked at his nephew.  
“I already have, Father,” Jon said. “If the current way of doing things were to continue, then it’s likely that crop rotation would have been discovered in the next one or two-hundred years. I’m just moving these things along. Remember when I said that archers could prove deadly to any army when used correctly?”  
“Aye,” Eddard said, “you seemed insistent on having the archers train regularly.”  
“Father, there was a kingdom in my old world that had its primary soldier as longbowmen. They were formidable, and in time they shoved back their enemies and even went on to influence the entire world. There were stories of how archers from this kingdom could sometimes even pierce plate armor. Do you wander the draw on those war bows?” Jon asked as he started to pace slightly around the crypts.  
“In order to pierce plate armor? I haven’t a clue, Jon,” Eddard said in disbelief.  
Jon smiled at his father, “160 pounds. The stories said that plate could be pierced with such a bow. Now,” at this Jon raised his hands in a placating manner, “is that proven? No, but that is not the point. The point is, with such war bows only plate armor can stop our arrows. Raiders will never be able to harm us if we have such fierce archers at our command. A volley would be able to tear apart the men-at-arms, and could injure even knights if the arrows find themselves in the unprotected areas or in the visors of the helms. With archers like that kingdom, we could hold off armies twice our size, and even have a chance at victory. The British, the kingdom made of archers, was able to decimate knights when in the right terrain. I hope to bring more advancements, however small to our homeland.”  
Ned took a moment to think. More advancements would be great, but it would be hard to explain the newfound interest in warfare. How could he explain the new technology if the southron kingdoms accused the North of preparing for war?  
“I like these ideas Jon, but we can’t start improving our military might without just cause. The longbowmen can be overlooked, but can you say the same about these other ideas you have dancing around in your mind?” Ned asked in a gentle tone.  
“Father,” Jon began with a snort,”military growth is the last thing I care about. I simply saw an opportunity to give advice and I gave it. If the time came where I could improve our forces so that no threat could ever befall us, I would. But no,” here Jon shook his head,” I mean to turn the North into a self-sufficient kingdom. Then, perhaps the rest of Westeros will follow in our footsteps.”  
The look of shock on Lord Stark’s face was amusing to Jon. But his incredulousness brought up a good counterpoint.  
“How would you ever plan to do that Jon?” Ned asked with blatant disbelief in his voice  
Jon smiled and shook his head. Oh, ye of little faith Eddard Stark.  
“How else Father?” Jon asked rhetorically, “with food.”  
“Food?” Ned parroted.  
“Food,” Jon repeated. “More specifically, glass gardens.”  
“Jon,” Eddard began in a hesitant voice, “you mean to build more glass gardens? Glass is an expensive commodity.”  
Jon scoffed, “glass isn’t expensive. You just don’t know how to make it. If you let me, I’ll make enough glass gardens for there to be one in every household, keep, and holdfast in the North. I could even gift all of the Night’s Watch a glass garden as well.”  
Eddard looked at Jon as if he had grown another head, “you know how to make glass?”  
“Father,” Jon began as if he were speaking to a child. “Glass is just melted sand. Get a furnace hot enough, pour sand in, and the cooled substance is all glass.”  
“What would you need to do this Jon?” Eddard asked. Let it not be said that he did not see an opportunity when it presented itself.  
“Sand from Dorne or the nearest supply of sand, a windmill or watermill, men to help in the movement and creation, and a special furnace made to withstand extreme heat,” Jon listed off.  
“A windmill? Why would you need something used for grain?” Eddard said, perplexed by this part of the list of items needed.  
“A windmill has many more uses than just grain,” Jon began, seemingly frustrated by the complete lack of ingenuity he found in Westeros. “A windmill can be used to cause something to rotate. This energy created by rotation is a great help when producing products, glass or otherwise. The wind and water are perpetual resources if used correctly, and they can be a boon if used with creativity. A windmill can help manipulate the massive furnaces that produce large amounts of steel and, if made correctly, glass. A furnace cannot be exceedingly larger than the man wielding the stoker, but a furnace controlled by a windmill through the billows can cause fires much greater and hotter than thought possible. With these hot flames, the glass can be made, and steel can be more easily forged.”  
“If this is possible, then the lives of all northerners could be bettered Jon,” Eddard said.  
“Aye,” Jon began, “I will draw the diagrams needed so as to ensure that you and others can bring this to pass.”  
“Would you not be helping?” Eddard said as he looked at Jon.  
“Father,” Jon said as he raised an eyebrow, “look at me. I have eight namedays, nearly nine. What man grown would accept any order that I give? I can watch and offer advice to you, but this must be carried out by individuals much more capable than I am.”  
“Well, we will see it carried out,” Eddard said as he placed his arm on Jon’s shoulder, patting it lightly. “I... I plan to give you Moat Cailin one day. I would have waited longer to inform you, but now I know you are much more a man grown than I knew.”  
Jon was surprised. His own fortress would be a boon. He could revolutionize the world with every person under his command listening to him.  
“The entrance to the North? You honor me Father,” Jon said as he smiled at his father. “It would not go over well with Lady Catelyn unless you give her the truth, Father, surely you see this?”  
“Aye,” Eddard began with a solemn look. “It is time your aunt learned the truth.”  
Leaving behind revolutions and secrets, both left the dark, cold crypts and made for their own chambers. One for sleep, the other to contemplate how to tell his lady wife a secret he has held close for years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note  
> It’s yaboi here!!!! Welcome back, and thanks for reading the second chapter of this Fanfiction. I really appreciate all the reviews up until this point! Thanks for the support, and if you want more, just let me know! I write this story for my own enjoyment as well as the enjoyment of others, so your appreciation makes me work faster and harder.  
> On another note, people have complained about Jon being the one who is the SI. Keep in mind, this is not Jon Snow. This is someone who was born in another universe and ended up in Westeros. His personality is almost entirely different because Jon Snow knew something before he was ever taught that he “knew nothing.” So, even if you hate Jon, that’s fine! Because this is not Jon.  
> People made some good points in the reviews about things in the first chapter, so I went ahead and edited. Someone said something about the dialogue and making it sound like the actual characters. Sorry! I’m trying to keep it fluid and not make the dialogue too modern. Expect the chapters to be edited if people keep pointing this out. I will say, I’m trying to make a conscious effort, so forgive me if I have mishaps.  
> Also, these are going up nearly as fast as wet paint. I’m writing them, glancing over them, and posting them. So, please review! Your reviews let me make the story better and more cohesive by fixing the flaws that you guys find.  
> Again, review, follow, favorite, flame. Pick your poison! Flames will typically be ignored unless they have legitimate criticisms though, just putting that out there for y’all’s information.


	3. Mended Paths and an Engineer’s Glass

Catelyn knew it was irrational. The boy was a child, why should he be treated with disdain? Yet, every time she looked at him she saw how much more of a Stark he was than her own children.  
She feared him. More than that, she feared this mystery woman that was able to move her husband to break his vows. This child, this stain, was the proof of broken vows. How could she not hate him, then? He was the culmination of every broken word, every failed promise. Was it his fault? No. Did she still despise him for it? Yes.  
She had tried, though not extensively, to at least be indifferent to the boy’s presence. It was taxing, having someone that you knew, logically, wasn’t to blame around you. Yet, they were the proof of everything that went wrong. And so, even though it was irrational, she hated the child.  
In a way, his presence wasn’t… totally deplorable. Her children loved him, though she didn’t understand why. Robb had taken to him from the time they were in cribs, and they hadn’t separated since.  
It was telling, she guessed, of the boy’s attitude, when she reflected on how his first movements had always been to teach Robb. The boy was unnatural. He had begun crawling at four moons and walking at six. Yet, for all of his unnaturalness, he had done it all to reach Robb. His only companion during those times, it was as if the boy, Jon, was trying to teach Robb how to crawl, walk, and do all of the things that Jon was doing.  
It was these actions, not their ages, that caused the boys to be so close. Though Robb was older, he admired his younger half-brother. This closeness, though it should have been a balm to her nerves, only caused her fears to deepen.  
‘They are close now, but what will happen in the future when you aren’t present?’ whispered an insidious voice that Catelyn knew was wrong. Yet, what if it was right? Could she really allow Jon to get close to her children if he was going to turn on them? Would the pain of not knowing their brother be more than the pain of feeling an impending betrayal?  
For this reason, Cat had tried to put a wedge between the children. Even so, Robb stoutly refused. How could she have expected anything different?  
Robb and Jon were together most of the time. If Robb went exploring, Jon was behind him. If Jon stayed inside, Robb stayed with him. If Robb wanted to play a prank on his siblings? Jon would play whatever role to make all of them laugh. They were closer than any brothers Catelyn had ever seen. Certainly, they were closer than her and Edmure.  
So, in a way, she knew her fears were unfounded. It didn’t stop her from bringing them to Eddard, but it did make those occurrences less prevalent. He was her husband, why shouldn’t she confide in him?  
That’s why, when Eddard came to her in the night and told her the truth, she was shocked, relieved in a way, and fearful in a different way. Shocked and hurt because Ned, her Ned, had lied to her for years. How could she trust his word after this? Shocked, because honest Ned had pulled the wool over the eyes of the entire realm. Fearful, because if this secret were found then their entire family would be in danger. If King Robert were to know… well, they would just have to endeavor to never allow the information to be spread. The truth would stay with those affected, and no one else.  
Guilty. That was the only thought that fleeted through Lady Catelyn’s mind. ‘Guilty, guilty, guilty,’ her mind screamed in betrayal. ‘How could you treat an innocent child, a boy without anything, so indifferently, with such disdain?’ she thought to herself in a self-deprecating manner.  
Yet… if the child really were a bastard? She would have continued in the same manner, and she would have felt justified. But now… she needed to apologize to the boy, to Jon.  
So, that was where she found herself now. She was stood outside of his door, waiting, building the courage to knock on the door to his room.  
‘Gods,’ she thought to herself, ‘he is a child, just knock on the door, woman.’  
As she reached up to knock on the door, she never had the chance to hit upon the dark wood to signal that someone stood without. Jon had opened it.  
How… typical. She couldn’t even find the nerve within herself to have this conversation, to apologize to this child who acted so much a man grown around his peers. Instead, he opened the door to this conversation. He was the one allowing her to say what was needed to be said. Gods, how could she have done this to this boy?  
“Lady Catelyn,” Jon began, obviously perplexed on why she was standing within his doorway, “is… is there something you need?”  
“I…” Catelyn began in a voice that wavered slightly, “I have come to apologize.” At this Lady Catelyn swallowed the lump in her throat, “Ned has told me the truth. I… can’t say how sorry I am. Words, cannot excuse what I have done to you, but I will work to show how truly, deeply guilty I feel.”  
Jon looked at her for a long moment. “When I was a child, you prayed a prayer when I fell sick. A prayer that stated that you would change… I know, Lady Stark, that you would have continued to treat me as a blight on this House if you were uninformed of the realities that be. Yet,” Jon paused as he smiled in a mirthless manner, “I find it exceedingly harsh to lay all fault at your feet. If it were that things revealed were not the reality, then you would have to some extent felt justified. After all, how could you go against the will of your lord husband? If I were made to stay here, then you would have to find some way to unleash the anger held within you. I do not fault you for your past deeds. And, in some manners, I hope your actions, publicly, do not change drastically. For, even in Lord Stark’s blatant disregard of your mental acumen, I find that my greatest defense yet from those that wish death upon this House is the disdain that has been bequeathed to me by actions outside the realm of my control. Thus, if the armor I currently wear shall be the means with which I shall keep myself and those precious to me safe, then this dreadful armor I shall bear. If, by divine will, I am called to shed this false skin for the skin of a higher calling, then I shall do so happily. All that I do, I do for my family. For surely, if realities were made known to those with less than honorable intentions, then this House, this family, our family wouldst surely suffer.”  
Catelyn was, quite truthfully, pleased with Jon’s forgiveness. “Jon,” she began with a hopeful look on her face, “I hope, truly, I hope that this can be a new start. While I will continue to do what I must to keep all of us safe, I hope that you, in truth, understand that I hold no more ill will toward you. I know that I am a prideful woman,” she said with a reflective expression, “I have faults of mine own. Yet, I would hope, that in private and with your siblings, for truly they are still your siblings in everything but parentage, we could mend this divide and be the family that we ought to be,” Catelyn finished with a hopeful expression that showed how much she genuinely wanted the child to now be more included.  
“Lady Catelyn,” Jon said, “ I would be happy to bridge this gap so that our family could, as the Tyrells are oft to say, grow stronger. I hold no ill will toward you, and for all that I love Robb and Father, I would be glad to start anew with you.”

Time passed, and changes within the family unit were indeed fortuitus. Robb, noticing the way that his mother now treated his brother, had expressed an even more exuberant attitude that had seemed to plaster a permanent smile on the child’s face. All of the children had noticed, but only Robb, who Jon could trust to be smart enough to not run his mouth to others, was informed as to why these changes had happened.  
“So,” Robb said as Jon and he were laying in his room. It used to be that the two had shared rooms, but his mother had, when he reached the age of five, forced room changes upon both of them. Sadly, in her move of pettiness Jon was moved to outside of the family wing. Even with the recent changes in relationship between Cat and Jon, the two had decided that it would behoove them to keep it that way. If less people noticed any goodwill towards the Bastard of Winterfell, then all the better. “You mean to say that Father, the man who raised you, is not truly your father but your uncle? That we are, in truth, cousins?” This thought seemed unacceptable to Robb. In his mind, it was always Robb and Jon against the world. Jon was like a rock in his steadiness. Any questions Robb ever had? Jon had an answer. “Why do things truly fall Jon? Surely, it is more than a law given by the Gods.” “Gravity, Robb. A force that pulls everything downwards.” “Why does it really rain Jon?” “Water evaporates, or becomes a gas that can’t really be seen, as they come together and form clouds they become water droplets again. When those droplets get too heavy, they fall from the clouds, and thus it rains Robb.“ Jon always had an answer. Robb was convinced that no one was smarter than his brother. So, it seemed foreign, and like a terrible trick in Robb’s mind to consider Jon anything else than his brother that he loved.  
“Aye,” Jon said as he sat up from Robb’s bedding area where the two young bows were sprawled out upon, “Father, for he is in truth the man that raised me, and I refuse to call him anything else, felt uncertain on whether or not to inform you of the truth. I insisted, I knew that it was something I could trust you with.”  
“Aye,” Robb said as he sat up to look at Jon, “I’m no dullard, Jon. I speak for us both when I say that you’ve certainly seen to that.” Jon and Robb both gave a chuckle at that. It was common for Jon to try and make Robb to have a broad perspective and think creatively. It was one reason why Jon loved his siblings as he did, they were the masterpieces that he was creating in the North. People who were creative, could think multilaterally, and were well informed on what they should do. While not foreign to Westeros, it was certainly not common to find highborns who were able to be as multifaceted as Jon was shaping his siblings to be.  
“A dullard you are not,” Jon said as he stopped chuckling. “I trust you Robb, you’re my brother. And, while we may not be brothers through our parents, you’re still the one I choose to be both my brother and future Lord.”  
“A good decision by Father to grant you Moat Cailin,” Robb said with a thoughtful look. “With you at the Neck, the North would never have to worry about a prissy Southern army if the realm ever faced such a threat. You’re bloody smart, brother, and I know as my bannerman you might just be the most important of them all if even half of your ideas come to fruition.”  
“Well said,” Jon said as he took on a thoughtful expression. He was always driven to put out more and more ideas for Lord Stark and Maester Luwin now that the crops had become more and more plentiful throughout the North. Lord Stark had even promised to allow the extra coin that Winterfell received, while not an exorbitant amount for all his many projects, to be, at least partially, set aside for Jon’s innovations. This was a boon for Jon, and it made his mind run with all of the things he planned to introduce.  
“Together, brother,” Jon said as he stuck his arm out after raising himself up from. “We shall make the North prosper like no other realm has ever been able.”  
Robb took Jon’s arm as he also rose up, “Aye, together we shall make the North more powerful, and strong than any other kingdom in all of Westeros.”

“Sand from the closest river, m’lord?” one of the workers in Winterfell that had a wagon that had pitched seams between the boards that made up the wagon asked as Eddard inquired of the man’s services.  
“Yes,” Lord Stark said as he placed his hand on Jon’s shoulder who stood next to him in front of the man and his wagon. “This is something that needs to be done quietly. The sand will be useful in the plans that we have. You need only bring it to the location we give to you, and we will pay you for your trips.”  
Jon and Ned had decided together that it would be prudent to ensure that the glass making remain secret. Unlike Myr, this glass would only be useful for the glasshouses that the North would be receiving. Skilled glass blowers weren’t needed to make panes of it, so that profession would take more time before it cropped up. However, it was decided that the project would remain secret until enough glass was made to create glass garden for each of the Northern houses so that the effects of it would be too widespread before the Myrish discovered that someone had uncovered how to make glass.  
Thus, Ned and Jon had talked extensively about how such a project should be setup. After a few days of planning, the two decided on a course of action.  
The project would remain on a small scale until enough glass was made so as to diminish the possibility of the Myrish sending assassins into the North. Every day one wagon would go the nearest river and come back full of sand. The same trip was made three times daily. One cart could carry around one ton of sand, from one ton of sand, ten panes of glass could be made. Thus, there was enough sand for thirty panes daily.  
Obviously, this needed to be kept out of sight, so Eddard and Jon decided to keep the glass making process closer to the nearest river, Acorn Water, which, luckily, was small so not many were near to it, but also had enough sand so as to be useful to the glass making endeavor. While close to the land of Lord Cerwyn, they were still within Lord Stark’s domain, so the operation began to run at a smooth rate.  
Indeed, between 15-20 panes of glass were made each day, and Jon estimated based off of his measurements of the glass gardens in Winterfell, that around 150 panes of glass would be needed per house. It was a boon that the men that did the work required little to no gold due to how small the operation was. While not small in the vast need of the glass, the amount of people who actually worked were minimized due to the mechanical set up that ran the furnace. A boon indeed because Jon had plans for the coin at his disposal.  
Spread out across the North, there were 20 houses, as well as the Night’s Watch, that Ned intended to receive these gifts. Thus, 3,000 panes of glass would be needed. Jon estimated that, provided that they maintained an area with sufficient space, they could have that amount within eight moons. It would be difficult to have such a vast space, so Eddard decided that, as the space within the buildings near the contraption they had set up to make the glass, the one made from the windmill doing more work than Eddard ever thought possible, it would begin to be taken to the nearby houses, silently, so as to begin construction on glass gardens for the nearest houses. From there, the glass would continue to go to the nearby houses until each house in the North had the sufficient materials to have a glass house that could help alleviate the burdens of the winters that would come in the future.  
It was enough to make Eddard weep tears of joy. Jon, truly, was a blessing upon the realm. Already, he had impacted the North in a way that the rest of the realm would see in due time. It filled him with immeasurable pride to see his son, in all but blood, improve the lives of every man, woman, and child that lived in the North. He was from another world, and such knowledge could be the way that Ned’s people attained better lives. He vowed, again, to listen to all that his son had to say.

It was shortly after they had enough for the first glass house, the one that was meant to go to Lord Cerwyn, that Jon came to speak to Eddard. As he knocked on the solar and entered, Ned grew interested in the conversation to come. ‘If anything,’ Eddard thought wryly, ‘this will be a talk where much progress will be made.’  
“Father,” Jon began with a serious expression on his face. “You have granted me part of the gold that was gained from the sale of the excess of grain that we had this last harvest, and I know exactly where I would like to begin to put this coin.”  
“Oh?” Eddard asked with a raised eyebrow as he gestured for Jon to continue.  
“Roads,” Jon said simply without any preamble.  
“Roads?” Ned asked in slight confusion.  
“Aye,” Jon began as his voice took on the tone of someone about to give a lecture. “Roads are pivotal to all trade within the North, and it is deeply concerning that there is a major lack of roads throughout the North. Roads, above all, will allow the North to have more mobility within its borders, and can cause great growth. Trade will blossom if roads were made that could connect the houses and major villages and “cities”, a term I use loosely, of the North to each other. While the coin from the harvest will, surely, not be enough to fund such a grand connection between the houses of the North, it would definitely be enough to begin construction.”  
“A road of such a great length would be nice, but construction of that magnitude would take a long time Jon,” Eddard said as he sat in contemplation. “And what of the route and barriers we would have to go through?” Eddard asked as he tried to see how well Jon had thought this through.  
Very well, it seemed as Jon pulled up a map that he had drawn on to show his thoughts. It was, in fact, a good idea, and the mapped-out road made Eddard feel more comfortable with the idea. “Well,” Jon began as he pointed at the barriers that would make the construction of the road difficult, the Wolfsroad, Jon had decided as the name. “Everyone knows that it is difficult to tunnel through mountains and the like, but that isn’t what we will do father. No, with the exception of the Wolfswood and bodies of water, we will go around,” Jon said as he traced around the line that visited each house in the North. “First, we will create the loop that causes travel to be much faster through the heart of the North, from there we will expand the road to reach each house by including the Kingsroad as an already made avenue for the east. The loop will circulate from outside Winterfell, through the Wolfswood and the Barrowlands, out towards Hornwood and the Last River near the Last Hearth. However,” Jon said as he looked up into Ned’s eyes. “By this point, the Lords will have seen that this is expedient to them, and we should expect them to help in this endeavor. By blunting the costs by using my own coin for the main road over the next few growing seasons, this main road should be able to be built. By that time, I find it highly appropriate to call upon the remaining Lords to pave their own pathways up to the Wolfsroad. When I am ruler of Moat Cailin, I will also help my neighbors in their construction in whichever ways I can. I would argue to make the main loop reach slightly passed the Neck to make this endeavor easy on the majority of the Lords including the Flints, but I fail to see the immediate need to go anywhere further than Moat Cailin. We will have to build bridges in places, but the construction will be worth it to have faster travel in the North. This road will make trade easier due to better transport conditions, help with the time it takes for the raised levies to come together, and allow for internal migration. In all,” he said. “Furthermore, I know that I can help in creating a cheaper stone so as to minimize cost. If my experiments prove fruitful, then I might just be able to make a substance that will be cheaper than stone but be nearly as strong. In all, this will be a complete boon for House Stark and the North.”  
“Aye,” Eddard said as he agreed with Jon. “How much time do you estimate for it to take?”  
“Well,” Jon said as he looked back at the map. “The North is the largest of all the kingdoms, and this road will be the second largest in all the kingdoms. By my calculations, it would near 2,600 miles of road. That’s without the added sections for the houses as well. Add those, and it would be nearing 3,100 miles. It will be an undertaking, but if the builders can lay seven to ten miles a day, as I know they can. Then, this can be done by my tenth nameday. Provided that the coin for this task is sufficient. It would be best,” Jon said as he stepped back from the table, “if you were to find workers who can work fast so that the profits can be more easily seen in an expedient manner.”  
“Aye, you’ve the right of it,” Ned said as he stood up. “The coin will be quite a bit to do the entire road, but I agree in most areas on the importance of a more connected realm. You can use the extra coin that will come from the upcoming harvest. If the reapers, improved plows, and systems that you’ve helped set up for the smallfolk prove to bring an even greater yield this growing season, then you may yet find more coin to use for this project. Even so, the Northern coffers have never been fuller. I’ll wait to see how far you make the coin go before I add that of our House, but if you cannot fund it all through the sold excesses, then I’ll help pay for the continued construction of the Wolfsroad,” Ned said with a nod towards Jon as they both exited the solar towards the dining hall so that they could eat with the rest of the family. Gods, Ned had never been happier that he had told Catelyn the truth. While she was angry for a time and it was a risk, it was wonderful to have the family close without any lies or great tensions.

Two months later and Jon’s efforts in revolutionizing the agriculture system proved fruitful. There was much more coin than before due to the much greater amount of land being cultivated by the smallfolk thanks to recent introduction of improved plows, horse collars, horse-drawn reapers that harvested faster, and even better farming practices that Jon expounded upon to Maester Luwin. Thus Jon had plenty of coin to begin, through Maester Luwin and his father, the road. He had been able to create a rudimentary concrete, not as good as stone, but Jon estimated that it could last at least a lifetime before it broke down. The wagons would be unable to cause great issues, and only floods could truly displace it. This easily malleable building material allowed the brick layers to work faster than expected, and so they were laying the road at around a pace of 10 miles per day. It was a welcome thing to experience. It rankled Jon that he couldn’t make a better concrete, but he didn’t have everything he needed for a better cement. So, he was stuck with a lesser concrete than he would have wanted.  
In that same month, Maester Luwin had come to Lord Eddard with a message. On it was a stag. The King had called for the North to answer to the rebelling Ironborn of whom Balon Greyjoy proclaimed himself the king of. And so, Ned was taken from his family to war. A war where one of Jon’s ideas could be tested. For truly, the Northern longbowmen would taste war with the Iron Islanders who had plagued their shores for too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note
> 
> Wasssssssuuuupppp my dudes and dudettes! I’m back with another chapter! Sorry it took a while, I had finals at the University that I study.  
> I noticed that a reviewer talked about the fact that Jon had a degree in Industrial Engineering and Computer Engineering. He didn’t get them at the same time, in fact, he went back to school to get his second masters. His history of his other life will be expounded upon later. I’m making a point of not delving into that history to show that he is, for all intents and purposes, the Jon of this story. He is and isn’t the man who came before.  
> As always, please review! Your enthusiasm makes me feel energized. Let me know if you like the story! Thank you!  
> Also, I’m going to try to post an update at least weekly, but we will see how that goes. It’s my hope to be able to do that, but not everything works out the way we want. This chapter took me awhile to write and critique, so I appreciate you guys being patient!  
> Until next time!


	4. Roses, Krakens, and Wolves

It had been nine years since the war that destroyed the Targaryen dynasty. People had taken, secretly, to their plotting of restorations, but for some it wasn’t enough. Action was called for by the hearts of angry men, and none other wanted action like Mace Tyrell.

He had been humiliated, deeply humiliated, when the overly long siege of Storm’s End resulted in nothing. The beloved dynasty, the House that gave his family such prominence, had been reduced to nigh nothing. It didn’t sit right with him to have to bend to some _usurper_ on the throne.

Yet, what was Mace to do? He couldn’t outright rebel, otherwise the might of the other Six Kingdoms would rip apart his house and the Reach. It would be bloody if the king found his plots and brought his hammer down upon him. No, Mace was stuck in the never-ending struggle that was being unable to do anything. So, when an opportunity came knocking, he took it.

How the Greyjoys even concocted this scheme, he’d never know. However, when they came looking for someone to stand aside, he saw something. He saw _opportunity_. Surely, the Iron Born would fail. Even so, their rebellion could potentially drain the resources of the Seven Kingdoms, thus allowing for an easier restoration. All he had to do was _nothing_ , and Mace Tyrell was the master of the art of doing nothing.

The terms were atrocious, really. The Iron Born offered nothing except that they wouldn’t raid the shores of the Reach anymore if the Tyrells and the Reach would not join the war. He should have denied them, but Lord Tyrell, in his infinite stupidity, accepted the deal.

It was sad really; how terrible Mace was at the Game. He thought himself intelligent, crafty, and wise. Yet, he was anything but those attributes. Thus, through his actions his family would lose any chance at Margaery sitting on the Iron Throne in the Baratheon dynasty. Though, in another way, his actions would unknowingly be the saving grace for his family and the Reach.

***

Olenna knew that something was happening when she returned from her visit to House Fossoway. She had gone there in order to take stock of the surrounding areas and keep check of the political climate in the Reach. She had returned from this routine trip, and she took notice of how her son, Mace, had yet to greet her.

This was worrying. Her son being busy enough to not come meet his mother? That must mean he was either in an important meeting, likely one that she should have been notified of, or he was scheming. Both were terrible, absolutely horrific possibilities. Her son, in all of his inability to play the Game, was one of the greatest dangers to this family. For this reason, she was the one that handled most of the true political discussions that had to do with the Reach. Well, she didn’t always do it openly, but she ensured that Mace said what she wanted him to say.

As she went to the gardens to sit for a while and gather her thoughts, she noticed a man leaving from the direction of Mace’s solar. Curious, he didn’t have the look of a Reachman. In fact, he looked more like… more like an Iron Born. They had a certain arrogance and swagger that was hard to place on any other subject of the Seven Kingdoms.

This was quite suspicious. The Reach had many issues with the Iron Islands, so why would her son have someone of such a deplorable realm in her, ahem, _their_ home of Highgarden? She would need to speak with her grandchildren that had been present these past few weeks, Willas and Margaery. Willas was observant, unlike his father, and Margaery, well, she was her pupil, the apple of Olenna’s eye. More than that, Margaery had a certain maturity about her. She had only reached her tenth nameday, yet she carried herself as a woman grown. At times, Olenna could see the obvious pain in her eyes, as if she thought that only terrible tragedy awaited her.

It would be the right course of action, she decided, to call them to the gardens so that they could speak of what had occurred during her absence. With that in mind, Olenna moved from the courtyard towards the gardens. Along the way, she had a servant call her grandchildren to her. It was time to see what Mace had done to _her_ family.

***

Before she had awakened in her young body, all that Lady Margaery of House Tyrell could see was a disgusting, unnatural _Green_.

_All she knew was Green_.

That sickening color, the pain that lasted an instant. The realization, wildfire. What distasteful fool would stoop to such a terrible substance? Even now, she knew the answer. _Cersei Lannister_.

Cersei was a fool, a dangerous idiotic fool that would burn the world for her own selfish desires. Hers was the type of madness that would see the commoner and the highborn alike destroyed by the wheel of oppression.

When she awakened in this new world on the day of her seventh nameday, she had been frightened. How was she supposed to reconcile the fact that she had been _murdered_? How could she stomach the realization that she had _died_ in a fiery grave, with those of her _family_ , _her_ family, with her, and she could do nothing about it? For days she had been distraught and withdrawn, yet she never told her family of the tale that was her first life, the culmination of their House playing the deadly Game of Thrones. For three years, her memories plagued her constantly.

It seemed as if the Gods had given her another chance in this new life. Yet, if the Gods were real would they have allowed their sept to burn? Would they have allowed their followers, commoners and highborns, to be burned in something as diabolical as Cersei destroying the Sept of Baelor with wildfire? Such thoughts nearly drove her mad.

Even so, Margaery had decided that Cersei would rue the day that she dared to manifest weapons against her and her family. No, in this new world, Cersei would _not_ win. She would _not_ have the satisfaction of murdering her family.

In this new life, Margaery knew that she had undergone change. Some things were different, and others were the same. Her thirst for dead Lannisters was proof of her change.

Yet, even with these hardships, Margaery still cared for the common people, not just because they were the voice of the mob and could be swayed ever so easily, but because they were people. Everyone needed someone to treat them with compassion. If the world had more people with her mindset, then maybe such vicious _creatures_ , for they could not be human with their lack of love for anyone other than themselves, as Joffery and Cersei wouldn’t exist?

_Gods_ , the thought of Joffery being alive left a bad taste in her mouth. The disgusting little prick would get his comeuppance again, in due time.

Yet, Margaery noticed things in this reset that were strange. For one, the Greyjoy Rebellion had begun much later than she remembered. Was her presence, her miniscule change in the way she treated her family, as if they would one day die and she be unable to stop it, so large that it radiated out towards even such large events as rebellions and wars?

Margaery liked to think she wasn’t arrogant. Well, not exactly that she wasn’t arrogant, because everyone has a dash of arrogance at some point, and her being told repeatedly, even now, that she would be Queen had caused her to think more highly of herself than she ought to think. However, unlike Cersei, she knew that she couldn’t control everything.

So, the idea that her presence had caused this shift? It was too much of a stretch to be true. Yet, if her presence was not the main difference, then what was?

Of one thing Margaery was certain, Cersei was still a bitch that needed to die. Yet how could one Rose of Highgarden be able to do such a thing when the _Queen of the Seven Kingdoms_ still had the King as her shield? The rumors of the relationship between the Queen and her twin, which Margaery strongly suspected were true, were, at least, grounds for a war if the circumstances play out correctly. If such a thing played out again, then she would have to push her family into joining with the correct side. Maybe, in this new life, she could aid Sansa’s brother? Sansa did speak much of her family, more specifically her brother Robb. Mayhaps it would be a beneficial arrangement?

Of one thing Margaery was _not_ certain. Did she still want to be Queen? It had cost her life and the lives of her family in another time. Was it still worth it? Deep down she could say yes, but she felt as if the Lannisters and Baratheons would always lead to death for any who followed them. How could she be Queen if there were none who held a claim? The Starks could give her the revenge she craved, the revenge she desperately needed, yet what claim could they hold? If only a secret heir was hidden in the frozen lands of the North, yet it would be too much to wish for. She was not a fool. If the North held an heir to the Iron Throne, the entire Seven Kingdoms would have known. Their honor was too stifling of their ability to play the Game. It was one of the reasons why Robb Stark had died in her first life.

That was one thing Margaery would seek to change. She owed it to Sansa. The poor girl didn’t deserve the hand she was dealt.

But now, Margaery had to deal with the fact that her revenge may be much harder to gain. Her father, though she loved him dearly, had been found to be colluding with the Greyjoys behind Grandmother’s back. It was dangerous, even more so because Margaery knew the Greyjoys would fail. That avenue was a terrible one that her father had decided to travel. She knew that nothing could come of this rebellion, it would only bring the remaining realms closer together. It angered her that her father had quite literally diminished, drastically, her chances at revenge on the Queen.

Part of her found it insane that she was plotting the downfall of the Queen when she had yet to attack House Tyrell, but she knew that the madness was still present in Cersei’s heart. Even now people talked of how cruel the prince is, and how Queen Cersei took every word as an insult to her and her children.

No, Margaery knew that she was justified in her path. Even so, now she would have to live with what came from her father’s blunder. She would plot. She was always plotting, and she would tear Cersei apart. If she couldn’t do it herself, then she’d find others that could help her. But now, her priority was being the little Rose of Highgarden and hoping that her father hadn’t created the ruin of her family.

***

Olenna was angry. No, she was furious. Her lackwitted son had gone and done the unthinkable. In his shortsightedness he had agreed with the damn Greyjoys to be non-aggressive in this rebellion. Well, they couldn’t outright be _caught_. It was true that they could raise a number of excuses for their slowness to assemble, but the potential for the Throne to catch on and punish their House was quite high. With the Reach being so close to the Iron Islands, it wouldn’t be hard for those snakes on the small council to figure out what was at play. Olenna knew that the King would find out after the rebellion failed.

She knew it would fail. One kingdom against six, or really one against five? The Iron Born would fail. They would go as lambs to the slaughter. Hopefully, when the crown found out, the Tyrells could avoid the worst of the ramifications. It was a dangerous thing that her son had done, and Olenna didn’t know if they would be safe.

It wasn’t like the Reach could even stop it anymore. The Greyjoys would certainly oust them for all that the Reach had agreed to do if they didn’t uphold their end of the bargain. Now, her House was stuck between a rock island and an Iron Throne. Her son’s actions _shamed_ their House.

All she could do now was berate Mace. That, and pray that the Gods were kind to their family. Poor Margaery, this would drastically hurt her chances to be Queen. Many plans would have to be redrafted. All because her son could be bloody stupid when Olenna wasn’t present.

***

Euron Greyjoy was in a pleasant mood when he returned to Pyke. The fat Tyrell had agreed to all of his terms, and it was a boon to the budding Rebellion that was just now underway. Even so, Euron knew that they would need more than a non-aggression pact from the Reach if they wanted to win this rebellion.

What they needed was a deep strike to the heartland of one of the kingdoms. Somewhere that no one would think could ever fall. He had a plan in mind, but he would first need to converse with his brother.

It left a bad taste in Euron’s mouth. He never wanted to stoop to offer to not raid the shores of the Reach, but Balon had given him his word that after the war, the pact would be forgotten. They needed the Reach fleets to be complacent. That was their only chance at destroying the Royal Fleet. Afterwards, the Reach would be ripe for the Iron Born, and they would have all the plunder they wanted after the Throne was pushed back.

He was skeptical. The other kingdoms would be happy to rally around the King and come attack Pyke. He knew the Reach would join the fighting if the Iron Throne were to appear to be close to winning. They had to if they wanted the king to be lenient of their inaction, and that inevitability proved that this rebellion would most likely fail. So, he had approached his brother after informing him of his success at Highgarden with the Reach with a daring, nigh reckless plan.

“Wintefell?” Balon asked skeptically.

“Aye,” Euron said with a slightly manic glint in his eye. The North would be the first to feel the Iron Born carve out their homelands and destroy all that they loved.

“You said that you have a plan that could potentially cause the North to falter in their war efforts? I fail to see how Winterfell could be included,” Balon said as he stared at his brother with an incredulous look on his face.

“With the North calling their levvies to come here,” Euron began, “it would seem suicide for Iron Born to go on the offensive. So,” Euron said as he grinned a grin that showed how clearly insane he was to even suggest such an idea. “That is exactly what we will do. I’ll lead a force of 600 men to Winterfell after the armies have left their centralized positions, and we will capture it.”

Balon sat in contemplation for a few moments. “I see some promise in it, but how could we take it? We are Iron Born, we rule the seas, not land like the Greenlanders,” Balon said as he pointed out one of the flaws in Euron’s scheme.

“Aye,” Euron said with a knowing look in his eye, ”but we know enough. Climb walls, build engines to reach the gates. Easy shit. All of that is simple, yet it’s the numbers that would be important. With 600 men marching fast to Winterfell after we make land in the northwest of the North, we can outnumber them completely."

"And what if they leave more men than you expect?” Balon asks, obviously doubting if Euron could pull something so outlandish off.

Euron scoffed, “leave more than I expect? How could they leave more than 100 men? What justification would be given for leaving so many resources behind? No, the Northerners are proud, they wouldn’t take more than their best into this war. 600 men will be what takes Winterfell when the Northern army comes southward towards Pyke.”

“The idea has merit,” Balon said after spending time contemplating this scheme. “I’ll give you leave to lead, but you will take my son, Maron, as your second in command.” Euron nearly laughed at the obvious show of Balon not trusting him. Why else would he send Maron?

Euron grinned. This was shaping up to be an excellent time to be alive. The chance to stick it to the proud northerners? He lived for this type of action. “Of course brother,” Euron said, “I’ll be happy to take him along.” ‘All the easier to kill him with the rest of the fodder that will take Winterfell. Who needs him when Balon has another son?’ Euron thought in perverse glee.

“Good,” Balon said, seemingly unaware of his brother’s thoughts. “Now, lets move on to discuss the fleet.”

And so, the two brothers lost themselves in setting further into motion a scheme that would tear their House apart. Oh, how we pay for our avarice.

***

Jon Snow knew that war would eventually come in his lifetime. It was common for mankind to war with each other, so why should he expect anything other than a life full of war in this new world that he was in? War was a constant. It never changed whether he was on Earth or in Westeros. This was one reason why he had given his father the improved longbow regime to begin with.

To be fair, it would normally take years for longbowmen to train, but men grown being forced to pull a bow that could be used in a war? They trained hard because they knew their life might depend on it. So, as the levies were called, it was with great satisfaction that Jon knew all of the archers in this Northern host would be the best equipped in the Seven Kingdoms. The armor that the Iron Born wore? It would be useless when a volley of Northern arrows punched through it. The North would be the terror on the field, and oh, how Jon wished he had time to implement more training regimes to create an even more fearsome army.

Sadly, the Wolfsroad would be taking longer than Jon had expected. They had only just gotten to the edge of the Wolfswood, and he knew that they were behind schedule. The clearing that was required for the forest had taken longer than Jon thought it would, so only a few of the levies could use the road. The few that could, though, were much faster in their march. It would seem, then, that Jon’s logistical foresight would be a welcome boon in years to come. This war, it seemed, would be the proving ground for some of his fledgling ideas.

Lord Stark having to join the battle caused Jon some worry. He knew that, likely, his father would survive due to his great ability at warfare, but how could he not be worried about him? It was _war_. A time to live and a time to die, that was what Eddard Stark was going towards. Jon prayed that this was the time for Eddard Stark to live. Not only because the man was his avenue to a better North, but because he had become a very trusted figure in Jon’s life. The man was his greatest supporter, so it would be a major blow if he were to be taken too early from Jon’s life.

As Lord Stark said his goodbyes to each of his children, Jon couldn’t help but reflect on the potential the North would have if Eddard Stark remained Warden of the North and Jon could continue to shape this part of the Seven Kingdoms. First, and most importantly, was the fact that there was likely a goldmine near the river, Acorn Water. Jon knew this, yet he and his father had not been able to do anything yet. The fact that the sand had enough silica for the glass to be good enough for glass gardens proved that there was likely quartz nearby. Especially due to the painstaking efforts that they took to ensure that erosion wasn’t a concern. They took sand starting in the smallest section and moving backwards along the river. This way of doing things allowed for them to continue in their glass making, and it ensured that erosion would be minimized from their activities. Yet, this brought up an interesting discovery. The further back they went, the better-quality sand they received. Jon was sure that a quartz deposit was nearby. And, if quartz was somewhere close, then the chances of gold were also high. So, Jon planned to soon begin sending out people to search along Acorn Water to see if his suspicions were true.

It seemed likely that there were pockets of gold hidden throughout the North. Winterfell had natural hot springs, _natural hot springs_ , how lucky could Jon be to be living in such a castle? There was definitely a history of volcanoes in the North, so why had they yet to find large pockets of gold that they could mine? Iron and other metals were common, and sulfur, thank God, was a ready resource at Winterfell, but gold was nearly unheard of in the North.

It was strange, because on Earth one of the greatest gold rich areas was Alaska. A state that resembled the North in terms of the geographical similarities had an abundance of gold in places. How then had the North gone so long without their own mine? For these reasons, Jon heavily suspected that a gold mine would be something that the North would see in the not too distant future.

“I leave Winterfell in your and Robb’s capable hands, Jon,” Ned said as he patted Jon on the shoulder. Jon nearly snorted. Leaving a vast castle such as Winterfell to two children that only had nine namedays? If Jon weren’t older than he seemed then he would have thought Lord Stark mad. At least Maester Luwin would be able to help in the administration side of things for Robb. Jon knew that he’d have to also bear more burdens so as to keep the family safe during the time his father was away.

“It’ll be in perfect condition when you return then, father,” Jon said with a haughty tone and an easy smile on his face.

Ned chuckled as he ruffled Jon’s hair. “Aye, I expect you and Robb will please me with how you handle things here.”

“Of course we will,” Jon said, “I’ve taught Robb to think critically. With Maester Luwin and I, Robb will be the best acting Lord Stark that he can be.”

Ned smiled as he turned and hugged Jon to his side. “I’ll miss you son,” Eddard said, “stay safe, and look after your siblings as I know you will.”

“I’ll miss you too father,” Jon said honestly, “and I shall endeavor to do as you ask. For if I don’t, I fear Lady Stark would bring righteous justice upon my head.”

Eddard smiled, let Jon out of his hug, and moved on to the gate. He refused to promise that he would return, for war was always dangerous, and it was never certain if a man who walked the path of a warrior would come home. So, Eddard left his family and met the host that had formed outside the castle walls. His host was ready to march southward towards Flint’s Finger. From there, the North would repel the Iron Born. Ned would make sure of it.

Now, if only he could find out why he felt like he should have left more than 100 men to man Winterfell in his absence.

‘Oh, well,’ Lord Stark thought to himself. ‘Jon is a smart lad, Robb too. I know that they’ll be fine.’

Weeks later, Ned would curse himself for tempting fate.

He couldn’t have known that this war would leave no one unscathed, and that Jon and Robb would be forced to become killers before they had reached their tenth nameday.

Jon though, he knew that war took from everyone and left no one untouched. War was no respecter of persons. It cared not if you were wealthy or poor, child or grown, frail or strong. War took everything, and it left behind enough ashes for civilizations to rebuild so that war could come again and burn it all to the ground. It was a perpetual cycle that wouldn’t, couldn’t be broken. Because war… war never changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN  
> Here she is! I put her up brand spankin’ new, so I hope you enjoy!  
> I don’t own ASOIAF or GOT, and I don’t own Fallout either. I just steak their ideas and change them to fit a narrative that I want :D  
> Also, expect for the M rating to start popping up. It’s mainly gonna be for gore, and there’s plenty of that to go around in war. I don’t really write a lot of profanity, usually, so it won’t be as present as in other writings. But, I’m not going to shy away from the war talk or the gore that is going to be present. That’s just an FYI.  
> Let me know what y’all think! I hope you liked the chapter. I had fun writing both Jon and Margaery in this one. Margaery, obviously, is different from canon. We’ll see where all of these changes will lead our protagonists.  
> Also, I know some of y’all might think the Fallout speech too much, but I couldn’t resist lol.  
> Stay Frosty! Peace out


End file.
